


Bruised Hearts and Eyes

by Martian_Puree



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: AU where Frank's alive, Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Study, F/M, Implied Jessica/Morty, Relationship Study, Rick and Summer are only referenced as well, Teen Smoking, Tobacco use, implied racism, just to be referenced, romance focused, teen drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martian_Puree/pseuds/Martian_Puree
Summary: "Everyone handles traumatic events differently. No matter whom or what, everyone seems to have their own way of dealing with the aftermath of something tragically unforgettable. Whether they mourn and feel sadness, fear, anger, or a denial so strong they pretend nothing ever went amiss, coping isn't the same for everyone."Brad and Jessica were good together. Far from perfect, but good. They were both popular, nice, and attractive, and they were friends before they started dating, so why not be together? Turns out, there were a lot of reasons.Jessica always knew Brad was serious when he would say she was the prettiest girl at Harry Herpson, and she hoped he believed her when she said he was someone she could see herself being with for a long time. But the unspoken truth was always that they would sometimes think: Is this it?-Jessica talks to Brad after he gets into a fight with Frank.
Relationships: Brad/Jessica (Rick and Morty), Jessica/Morty Smith
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Bruised Hearts and Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission for a contest(but unfortunately finished long after the deadline). Thank you to everyone who beta-read this before it was published!

There was another party at the Smith house that Saturday. Something about Summer needing more friends, or Rick trying to prove he knew how to connect with the younger generation; but admittedly, Jessica didn’t bother learning each excuse for half the student body and/or half the infinite inter-dimensional galaxy to be crammed into one building (and the lawn) anymore. 

In spite of that, she still came to each one. Not that she needed an excuse to have fun. 

Venturing through the house, Jessica passed all the different breeds of partygoers: the chattering groups of the open minded type, the people passed out in most unconventional spots, passed kids drinking crazy amounts for the recognition of their peers. An alien sucking the brain juices out of another alien. There was of course also the open bathroom door to pass, with the long line leading up to it; where someone already puking into the toilet stalled them from also releasing their stomach’s contents. She’d recognize the back of Tammy’s head, lucky that her hair was short enough to not fall into the puke-water mixture. Her peers cheered on her drunken moans. She even passed a gory scene between a floopy doop and a shmoopy doop, without even skipping a beat. The smells following close after her.

Techno music rocked the house side to side, sweeping her up in a fleeting feeling of blissful chaos. An unopened can of something carbonated in her hand stung of cold, condensation wetting her palm. Although she knew where she was going, the feeling of being lost in a house that wasn’t hers, yet as familiar as her own was not too far along. 

It was odd that she knew the place so well, and yet her boyfriend (who’d only been invited there once or twice before) had decided the most off-limits area was the best place to hide from her. 

Or maybe not so odd at all, trying to keep everyone at arm’s length.

As she approached the entrance to the master bedroom, she slowly placed her hand on the doorknob. A sense of anxiousness suddenly spread through her, without explanation or reasonable existence. With a hefty sigh, she put her ear against the door to check if there was anyone else inside. Who knew what sort of grotesque slimy alien, or worse, fellow classmate was in there? 

But there was no sound to be heard. Her anxieties proven unfounded, she pushed open the door, looking over to the open doors at the balcony. Deciding quickly to lock the door behind her, knowing privacy was necessary for this inevitable intervention. 

She saw Brad perk up from where he was, throwing a glance over his left shoulder that connected them for a brief, electric moment. It was gone just as quickly, him snapping back into his slouched position at the railing. 

While she offered him a smile he did not see, as she joined him at his left side. Looking out over the forest of bland rooftops he faced. “You know, they don’t really let people up here,” She started, before noticing the smell of smoke. Turning a more scrutinous eye in his direction, she was not at all surprised to see a cigarette snug between his fingers. “Definitely not for smoke breaks either.”

He took a puff. “...Maybe they should put a sign up somewhere.”

She tittered, attempting to ease the tension radiating between them, “Maybe,” he knew what she was here for. 

He took another long inhale before clenching his eyes closed, then looking around everywhere but her with poorly masked awkwardness. Reviving memories of earlier days. “Sorry, I know you don’t anymore-” he went to put the cigarette out on the railing before she stopped him.

“It’s fine,” Voice as soothing and non-confrontational as ever. Then she continued, “Actually, could I…” Trailing off in a questioning tone, an open palm held out. Brad looked from her hand to her perfectly lopsided grin. The way she seemed to find the whole situation so easy while he just slouched there all scrunched in on himself. It was so perfectly easy to get angry with. But…

Brad silently went through the motions of giving Jessica her own stick and a light, all without fully turning his face in her direction. She took a nice long inhale away from Brad, while his eyes lingered on her delicate mouth, doing what it once promised to never come back to, “Didn’t realize I missed this.” She laughed to herself, almost bitterly. Smoke seemed to mix in with her perfume and Brad’s cologne, and it was almost pleasant. It almost felt like freshman year again. It almost felt like innocence. When innocence could be easy. 

What was she really talking about missing?

Brad could be forgiven for thinking she was beautiful. That this was beautiful. Not that he was really thinking anything; in fact, his mind was pleasantly blank. Always living in the moment. But it could be seen in his eyes that he had been hooked once again. It was like that for one endless moment. The both of them, smoking together in stress free silence as the music thumped out of the house. It could’ve been mistaken for a scene out of a coming of age movie, where they’d only just met, desperate to escape the noise and fake friends. Where young love was soon to blossom. Then they’d navigate the social hierarchy of high school together, complain that they didn’t share any class periods or that their uniform didn’t fit right.

But they’d already done most of their growing by now. Now Earth was just waiting to see if they’d learned anything in the time they spent surviving.

With one last puff, she flicked the cigarette over the balcony, the both of them ignoring a voice of objection from below. She had a curve to her lips for a short while, before letting a sigh leak from between them, her true concerns revealing themselves, “Hey- how hard did Frank hit you in the eye?” 

A painful silence followed that. A pregnant pause that weighed on the shoulders of them both. Then finally, Brad turned to her fully, his right eye puckered and swollen. Grimacing solemnly, cringing, she pressed her fingertips to the fleshy wound with a gentleness very much like her. Noticing how it bulged, and its dark purple tone blended into his already dark skin; the skin of her own hand contrasting against his. As well as how a smaller bruise on his jaw was illuminated by the artificial light from the master bedroom. Hissing, he didn’t flinch back as she reached up with her other hand, pressing the can against that beautiful skin. 

“You got this for me?” Despite the circumstances, he still managed to try to sound smooth. Placing his hand over hers while she held the drink. His voice was a seductive tactic of distraction that she wanted to let herself fall into. “You shouldn’t have,” he drawled with expertise. 

She’d laugh at him: his humor, his audacity, so happy to be led astray from her goal. She’d shake her head and reply, “Who else is gonna nurse you back to health before the next game?” And Brad frowned at her, beyond the unconditional love his unharmed eye held. She tried not to let her precious little smile slip, knowing full well she just spoke into existence a royal fuck up. Too soon. Said that voice in her head. Brad might as well have said it too. 

There was visible retreat in the conversation, avoiding what had just been said. Brad’s gaze drooped low, to Jessica’s free hand that laid against his shoulder, where there was a clean slice into his varsity jacket. Her thumb caressed it, stressing it slightly. Her voice trembled when she murmured firmly, “You need to stop getting into fights.” Brad’s exasperated groan was out soon enough to cause an immediate tenser shift in her tone. Filled with her characteristic worry and stress, “I know you don’t think it’s going to happen, because it’s one of those things you’re... good at,” she looked so horribly sad when she said that, “but…” full bottom lip between her teeth, she captured Brad’s eyes again. “You could actually get hurt one day.”

“It’s not like that’s been a problem.” Brushing her off with a tap of his cigarette, casting a careless look in her direction before bringing it back between his lips. He took the can from her, and she in turn took her hand from his chest. 

“Yes it has, actually.” She bristled, barely settling before going off again, “Just because you don’t lose, doesn’t mean there wasn’t something to regret. Remember when you and Frank got into that argument about when the freaking calculus homework was due and he ended up slashing you in the arm? Or how about tearing Ethan’s shirt and getting busted in the nose by his friend? Chris Gibbens bruising your shoulder, Frank scarring your forearm-” 

Brad stared at the unfamiliar neighborhood beyond the balcony, releasing himself from Jessica’s hold to continue drinking in smoke. “Or how about when my brother thought you were just-” Jessica paused, trying to find the right words for what would surely lead to a new argument blooming if she didn’t tread carefully. 

He spit out the truth before she could sugarcoat the almost nostalgic wound, “Some stupid ass thug from the projects.” Jessica wilted, yet denied her desire to put an arm around him.

“... and you guys fought in the front of my house before he broke your wrist. You were out of commission for like a month- the team was on a losing streak while you were gone!” She looked at his temple for a moment, wondering what laid beyond the flesh and bone that caged his innermost thoughts. How he stood there, always keeping it buried inside until someone burst the thin bubble that held it down. “It still hurts sometimes, doesn’t it?” She hesitated to curl her hand around his, which clenched the balcony as if he would collapse without it. The veins on his hand that bulged in frustration struggled to settle under her touch.

“You know I’m trying, right?” Bitterly, he begged for her reassurance, still avoiding the warmth of her pitying eyes. She gave him a squeeze. Brad did not reject her sliding closer to his side, embracing his arm, being his only anchor to the Earth in this moment. 

“Life isn’t a game, Brad,” she pleaded. She received no response. 

Neither could bring themselves to smile after that. Not for each other's sake, and definitely not for their own. Simply living in each other's company as people slowly trickled out from each orifice of the house as the hours melted away. After Brad could stop trembling and Jessica accepted his varsity jacket over her bare shoulders, they were ready to find his car and head out. 

That was the mentally communicated plan, born from years of familiarity with each other. Until Morty was seen very clearly stressed out, while Rick and Summer were nowhere to be seen. The broken coffee table in the living room just enough in sight. Brad would bristle, furrowing his brows, prepared to offer Morty what Jessica would assume some sort of emotionally stunted half-apology. Jessica would then turn to him and ask him to wait in the car, this earning her Brad’s muted stare. Until he went trudging out the front door without another word. There was an uncertainty that lingered there before Morty got the first word in, when he saw that Brad had left Jessica’s side.

“So…” he began, so awkwardly.

Jessica looked away. “Yeah…”

He stuttered, “E-e-everything go-going alright?” poking his fingertips together. 

This question caught Jessica off guard, who was expecting to hear about table pricing. “Yeah, we, uh… talked.”

Morty laughed a small bit, scratching at his neck. “Geez… I um… thought it would end up w-w-worse than that...”

There was a silent pause from her, who stared at Morty incredulously, “What kind of guy do you think Brad is?”

That seemed to get Morty out of whatever love trance he’d stuck himself in. He couldn’t find his words for a minute, before speaking more carefully, “I mean, he’s on the football and basketball team. And it’s the second time he’s hurt someone here.”

“What, like you thought he’d kill him?” Her arms were crossed before she could think about doing it, while Morty was visibly more shaken.

“No! No, I mean- you know he has a reputation for it...” It seemed more like Morty was pleading with her rather than insulting Brad’s morality, but it was not by much.

She was sure Morty could feel her rising annoyance with him, looking down on him with a bemused sneer. She clenched the bridge of her nose with her fingertips, “Morty, that isn’t- you- ugh…” A noise of frustration rumbled in her throat, “Whatever.” She’d roll her eyes, wondering why the hell she even came out tonight. “He’s really sorry, and he’ll pay for the table.” With that she turned herself around, ready to leave without a proper goodbye. 

He would stumble over himself further, trying to rectify the situation,“Jessica- wait!”

She sighed, turning to face Morty, “Yeah?”

“I mean, I know it’s not my place but, y’know it seems like this happens a lot? And you two like, don’t always seem to really- and I don’t-”

Interrupting him with a raised hand, resolute in her conviction. Jessica continued, “Morty, I want to make things clear with you. This is my relationship, and I don’t want your advice about it. You don’t know me or Brad well enough to do that. Okay?” There were no words of appreciation for Morty’s attempt.

He was speechless and wide-eyed. As though afraid Jessica would be the one to do him in, even after so many life threatening adventures. With a final, pathetic: “Okay, Jessica.” He watched her turn around again without offering him any parting words, walking through the front door as Brad’s car pulled up in front of the house. 

“Erm, goodnight!” Calling out as though he had more left to say.

She tossed a melancholic look over her left shoulder, reluctantly returning his goodbye, “Night, Morty.”

The walk to the car was an excruciating reminder of what she thought she could have left behind in the house. Feeling as though the light from the Smith family home was burning into her skin, boiling her backside, making its home in her belly, and eating its way through her midsection; a feeling which she theorized was Morty staring through the dining room window. But she didn’t look back. It hurt less already, knowing he was right.

The car was on, at a low hum. Brad sat there in the front seat without his phone in his hand, as though he was just waiting there with his hand on the wheel no problem. As she entered the car, closing the door soon after sitting down, he had a question for her, “So, what’d you say?”

“I just told him you were sorry for breaking his table with another guy’s body.” She strapped herself in. “You should be glad they’re not suing you over it.” Her tone was rigid, and delivered her unfiltered thoughts with critical harshness.

“You sure he wasn’t just trying to see if you’d give him a pity fuck before you had to go crawling back to your jerk boyfriend?” The accusation came tumbling out without so much as a hint of malice behind his words, a sort of self-sabotaging obliviousness to their impact. 

Jessica was taken back, so unsettled to see him in such a state, “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“Maybe we should, since we’ve only talked about me tonight.”

“Maybe if your mommy-issues didn’t make you so insecure we wouldn’t have to talk about you and what you’re doing wrong every time.” Jessica almost covered her mouth after she let herself say that. Brad looked at her like she just spit in his face and expected a thank you. 

“...What the fuck is wrong with you?” He stared at her, almost as if searching for the answer. It wasn’t in the tone that one would expect. Instead of righteous, seething anger… it was subdued, quiet… betrayed. Openly questioning things that hadn’t had to be questioned tonight. Then replaced by the same harshness that Jessica previously had, “Don’t ever talk about her.” Shaking his head as he shifted the gear stick without mercy. Jessica kept her mouth tightly shut. 

He peeled out of the Smith’s neighborhood roughly, bringing Jessica’s shoulders back against the seat. With both of his hands clenching the steering wheel, he was the picture of the silent treatment, the driving force behind an emotionally confuddled young mind. He didn’t bother to drive dangerously or at worryingly high speeds, but there was a vein bulging in his hand that spoke volumes. The windows remained rolled up, there was no music playing. Their phones laid untouched, out of sight.

Was it that neither of them could bring themselves to puncture the silence?

It was a silence filled with inaudible thought, during the drive back to her house. There was nothing she could think of to say that would repair the scars she tore open. Her mouth begged to vocalize, to reach out and make up for what she’d said. And she said nothing. The familiar scenery outside the window being her only comfort. Brad just stared at the road like an underpaid, undervalued bus driver.

Soon enough, he reached their destination. There was no request to spend the night, no question if she was going to want him to drive her to school on Monday, no inquiry about each other’s activities during the following week. It was like they welcomed the end of this night.

She looked at her house for a moment, swimming through the thick tension that had made its home burrowing itself deep within their brains. It was in this moment that she chose to speak again, to salvage what she could, “Can we forget I said that?”

He still wasn’t looking at her. “Don’t ask me that.” There was deep seated exhaustion within his voice.

There she went, putting on an innocent face. Genuinely expressed distress represented by her furrowed brows and her angelically distraught appearance. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t.” Continuing to defend herself.

“...”

“I’m sorry.” Continuing to cover. 

There was no question that her gaze burned into his side, stalling for the moment she would have to leave his car and leave so many questions unanswered. Brad let his forehead rest against the steering wheel, clenching his eyes closed as he forced himself to say, “I really want it to work with you.”

She was ripped out of her moment without remorse, “What do you mean?”

“It’s so difficult dealing with you. Us.”

Jessica was stunned into a corner of silence. She spoke tentatively, barely above a whisper, cautiously tip-toeing toward the question she’d hoped would remain unspoken tonight, “... Do you want to break up with me?” Her heart ached and shuddered within her chest as she pulled his jacket tighter around herself, the fabric feeling warm and clammy in her sweating palms. 

Brad’s eyes were open and staring ahead of himself, a neutral and unreadable sort of expression. 

He covered them with his hand, lips tightened into a grimace as he buried himself away. “Don’t say that.”

Pressing onward, “Is it the truth?” she was hesitant to reach any closer with her voice, one she would use if happening upon a wounded animal in the forest.

He slowly replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Brad,” It seemed that was what she said mostly commonly these days.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated.

“We’re going to talk about this... tomorrow.” So firm, it was like she thought she could fix everything.

“...”

“We can go to Shoney’s. Spend some time together.” She placed her hand over his. 

“...”

“Figure things out.”

“...”

“Goodnight.”

The jacket was left crumpled in the passenger seat. “Night.” It was bitter and quiet, even as the crickets sang and the streetlights glowed so softly. As she waved goodbye, she knew he was finally looking. All the while, her brother standing on the front porch outside.


End file.
